Susan, the young woman in John Moore's poetic novel, is 10 years older than I am. This means that many of her memories and experiences were mine. I say were because being reminded of them now, through the book, makes me realise what sheltered lives young women like myself led.
We were the post war youngsters experiencing the rapidly changing times of the 50s. Like Susan I quickly discovered how out of date my well meaning parents were. While they, I'm sure, struggled to understand the new clothes, the very different boyfriends and the new culture, set against a background of the fear of nuclear war.
The background in the book is that of the Suez crisis while I used to have nightmares about atomic bombs. And some of my boyfriends arrived on motorbikes, shock horror.
Susan's mother is of the old school increasingly distressed by what she considers to be the slipping of standards. Susan's father, on the other hand is far more flexible, the epitome of the good old squire, open to everyone's problems and falling over backwards to solve them.
The prose itself is a paeon to the glories of the countryside in the rare years after the war and before the march of time and profit reared its head.
Susan experiences disillusionment with Tony, the man her mother would like her to marry, but this proves to be formative. As does her relationship with the much older Stephen who by pressing his favourite books upon her basically educates her. I had forgotten how much I too relied on books to learn about the world. There was no television yet.
It would have been easy to provide a chocolate box ending, letting Susan live happily ever after, having allowed the adored family home to rot into the ground and her father conveniently dying, hereby avoiding further distress about the disintegration of his home and estate. I'm glad to say that the final pages are more uncertain. There's a feel of reality about them. Ferdinando's Oak, the 400 year old tree that represents the spirit of Susan's family, has to make way for the inexorable march of the new M5 motorway but there are new choices and possibilities left wide open.
And the title? The Waters Under the Earth? In one sense this is literal. A spring starts to bubble up in the cellar. Sometimes it can be contained. Others, it threatens to swamp the house. But it is also a metaphor for the life force that bursts out in many different directions, not all of them easy to cope with, something amply described over 446 pages here.
I was interested to read in the preface by Amanda Craig that Waters didn't sell particularly well in spite of its excellent revues. One reason she gives is that the title "is too long, too abstract, and meaningless unless you have read the book". All I can add is that the book is truly worth reading. The picture of this earlier innocent England it offers has stayed with me.